


All Dolled Up

by Artifex_Verbum



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm sex doll, Sex Doll, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:42:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28908021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artifex_Verbum/pseuds/Artifex_Verbum
Summary: Malcolm discovers that even behind bars, Martin has a storage locker. Tamping down his fears, Malcolm determines to find it and get inside...but what he discovers there is more than he'd bargained for.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright/Martin Whitly
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

Malcolm’s footsteps echoed loudly in the empty space, bouncing off the concrete floor and coming back to him after hitting the closed metal doors. He passed rows of storage lockers, weaving through the bowels of Manhattan Major Storage. 

Claustrophobia scratched at his throat, tightening around it like a fist. He coughed and forced his feet to keep moving. He hadn’t come this far to quit.

Finally, he turned down the 600’s hallway. His skin itched beneath his thousand dollar, jet black suit and he felt an almost magnetic pull drawing him closer. 

“Of course,” he muttered as he came to locker 666. He reached out, hand grasping the size-able metal lock that bound the door closed. It was freezing to the touch and sat heavily in his hand. He wondered briefly why his father had chosen a lock like this. Was there any sort of logic behind it? Did he think it would be harder to get past than a combination lock? Of course he did. 

Well, Dad was smart. But he was smarter. 

Hand going to his pocket, he reached inside and grabbed his supplies. He’d spent the last several days buying locks like these - the same brand and everything - and picking them open. Despite being no lock-picking master, he had enough confidence in his recent practice to get this one open, and that’s all that mattered. 

He hated to kneel on the dirty concrete floor, but he did it anyway. Bringing the pick to the lock, he began his work. Eyes strained in concentration, ears trained for the tiniest hiccup of the tumblers within, his fingers grasped onto the pin. He finessed it the best he could, prepared to move on to raking if the single pin method didn’t work.

He manipulated the pins within, raising them to the shear line and pushing the driver pins above the shear line until he heard what he was after. He was prepared to break out more tools, to use the rake method if the single pin didn’t work. 

But it did. 

After a handful of minutes the lock’s arm popped open. 

Triumphantly, he stood up, ignoring the pain shooting down his legs. He brushed off his suit and removed the lock. 

Excitement and nervousness bubbled in his chest as he wondered what exactly was in this storage locker. 

After keeping a close eye on Martin’s visitor logs after his most recent visitor mishap, Malcolm had noticed an unfamiliar name. When he inquired about the Dr. Larkin, the director of Claremont shrugged and informed him that it was a visiting gastroenterologist. 

Bright had left that day expecting to do a quick google search and find the doctor and he did. He clicked on the number provided and listened as the phone rang. He’d gotten through to the receptionist and began asking questions.

The rub?

The gastroenterologist had never heard of Martin Whitly and had never been to Claremont. 

Malcolm considered taking this information to Gil, but he wanted to investigate it on his own first. He wasn’t sure what he was going to find and he certainly didn’t want to get railroaded off the trail because he was “too close.” 

So he kept the information to himself, asking the hospital to call him the next time Dr. Larkin visited. 

They did. 

Malcolm was - rather luckily - close by. He was able to tail the doctor as he descended the cascade of steps leading from Claremont. He hailed a cab and gave the driver a nice wad of cash to follow the bald man’s car to wherever it was going. 

Where it went was Manhattan Major Storage. Malcolm told the cab driver to park a ways off and he waited for the perfect moment to spring from the car and begin tailing the man inside the building. 

He slipped in the same door as the fake doctor and quickly slipped off his shoes. As much as it killed him to traipse along the dirty concrete floor in nothing more than his socks, he couldn’t risk making a single sound. The endless windowless hallways made fear spike in his chest, but he shoved it down in favor of answers.

It felt like forever and a day that he spent winding around the halls behind this man, but he finally came to a stop. He watched from around a corner as the man pulled out a key, opened a locker and disappeared inside. Malcolm wasn’t going to risk getting any closer. So he waited, breath caught in his lungs, scared to breathe too loudly. 

After a few minutes, the man emerged with what looked like a journal or a book. He slid the metal door shut and returned the lock with a click. 

Malcolm moved quickly, shoes still dangling from his hand, and ducked into a dark hallway only to realize that the motion activated lights would give him away. 

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath as he slid back out to the hall from which he came and began a mad dash to the door ahead of the fake doctor.

He successfully made it back outside, rushing to the backside of a dumpster as the man emerged. He watched from the behind the reeking metal dump as the man unlocked his navy blue Buick and slipped inside with the book.

Who the hell was this? What was his father doing? His mind spun as he put his shoes back on. 

Once the mystery man had rolled out of the parking lot, Malcolm went back inside. He found the locker once more and inspected the lock. 

Now, here he was again, only this time - he’d finally get answers. Hopefully. 

The metal door clanked and clattered as he dragged it up. He set the open lock down on a small, nearby table and he clicked on a lamp that was apparently battery powered. A warm glow filled the small square space. 

He looked around, and nearly jumped out of his skin when his eyes snagged on a human form. He sucked in a shocked breath, prepared to fight or run or do something...but no action was necessary. 

Heart beating frantically in his chest, his confused mind came to several startling realizations at once. This looked like a person, but it wasn’t a person. It was a life-sized doll. A doll of...him. 

He stared at his own face, unmoving, unblinking, staring back at him. With shuddering breaths, he walked towards it. 

The rest of the room with its boxes and loaded bookshelves no longer seemed to matter. All that existed was his rabbit quick breath and his confused thoughts doing somersaults in his brain. 

He came closer to it and reached out a hand. He slid his fingers along it’s cheek, bringing them to it’s chin, and raised its face to get a better look.

The realism of it...of him... took his breath away. He stared down at his own face, chestnut brown hair, fixed in the same fashion as his own. Long eyelashes and startling iceberg blue eyes. The sweep of his cheeks, the flare of his nostrils, the plumpness of his lips - was perfect. 

He almost expected the doll to blink suddenly, to take in a gasping breath, to reach up and grasp his wrist. 

He was so realistic. Even down to his skin tone. The shade of his lips. The stubble along his jawline. Malcolm moved his hand, bringing a thumb to the doll’s pillowed lips and he found that he could part them and slide the digit inside. 

“Fuck,” he squeaked, realizing just what kind of doll this was. He pressed his thumb further in, surprised to find the soft, cavernous space so welcoming. 

His breathing increased as heat rolled down his spine. Eventually, he removed his thumb so that he could further analyze...well...himself.

Malcolm’s brows knitted in confusion as his gaze slid down the doll’s chest, over his clothing, down to his shoes. He was wearing one of Malcolm’s suits. Not a suit *like* one of his suits - but his suit. 

How? How had Martin gotten a hold of one of his suits? 

He fleetingly remembered his mother rushing around his loft, embedding herself in his closet last fall. She had brought over some new suits, bustling in his space until she was satisfied and walking out the door with an armful of his “old” suits. Which - were not old. He even liked them. He tried to haggle with her, but she said something about not being “out of date,” about “remaining fashionable,” and then she disappeared out the door.

But then how did Martin get the suit? 

He wanted to get closer, to see, to feel, so he carefully sat upon the doll’s lap and the heat that had crawled along his spine earlier intensified and began to noticeably pool in his groin. He leaned into the doll - leaned into himself - resting his head along its shoulder, nestled into its neck. He felt safe with it in a way that he couldn’t explain.

It wasn’t judging him, it wasn’t launching questions or waiting for responses. There was no fear of failure. Just comfort. His own familiar comfort.

He ran his hand along the suit. It had been one of his favorites. Navy blue and so soft to the touch, with a deep burgundy tie that reminded him of his favorite Merlot. Taking a deep breath in, he scented his own cologne. It made him squirm with anticipation.

For what he wasn’t quite sure, but that feeling of excitement was gaining. As he squirmed he felt the unmistakable press of a hard length along the join of his ass and thigh. He let out a helpless sound as his cock filled. 

The light in the hallway clicked off at the lack of movement, jarring him out of his daze. He sprang up, suddenly aware that he was on display for anyone who ventured down the hallway. 

That wouldn’t do.

He needed privacy. 

‘For what?’ his mind pressed. He ignored it, already knowing the answer but not quite sure if he wanted to admit it just yet. He walked over to the metal door and began sliding it down. That same gnaw of claustrophobia knocked, but he ignored it, remembering the doll behind him and how safe it made him feel.

Once the door was down, he came back to himself. 

He stood over his unmoving self, this time bending, reaching out, thumbs going to the doll’s eyes. A shocked sharp intake of breath as he realized the doll had eyelids. He pulled them gently down at the same time with his two thumbs and leaned in to kiss each lid, feeling the tickle of lashes along his lower lip.

He cupped both cheeks and tilted his head for a kiss. His lips were solid and soft and Malcolm couldn’t help his tongue’s insistence to explore, to lick inside, to see if he would find a taste. There was no taste, but he found the kiss intoxicating nonetheless.

He pulled away, realizing that he was incredibly hard.

With hands shaking from anticipation, he reached for his jacket and slid it off his shoulders. He tossed it over a nearby box and moved his fingers to his fly. 

The chair that the doll was seated on was large enough for him to plant his knees on either side and rise up. He slid the zipper down and pulled out his hard cock. He held his pulsing length in his right hand and slid his left hand through the doll’s hair. It was remarkably soft and he felt pulled to kiss the crown of his head.

Getting into place once more, he slid his cock along his own silicone lips. The sight was...breathtaking. Once the doll’s lips had been glossed with his own precum, he pressed his cock inside, going deeper and deeper until a moan tore from his lips. 

His resolve was shaking apart as he watched his cock, pulsing and alive, slide in and out of his silicone lips. Those lips gripped him, grounded him, prompted him to push the fact that he was, in essence, fucking himself, out of mind for the moment. 

When he came too close to his orgasm, he pulled away, heaving in lungfuls of air. His desperate hand flew to the base of his cock to give a harsh squeeze and stop the tidal wave of pleasure. His whole body shook. 

He climbed off the chair and reached for himself. He began to undo the doll’s tie, to slip off his jacket, then his shirt. He knelt and began reaching for his shoes and his socks. And finally...finally, he moved to undo his pants. 

Malcolm’s mouth was dry. Arousal buzzed through every cell of his body. He was anxious to see what was beneath the slacks. He pulled the pants down the silicone body and gained sight of his own boxer briefs. 

Fuck. He even had his underwear. His mind went wild wondering if even the doll’s cock would be the same. If it was the same...fuck...what did that mean? How would Martin know…? Something dark and rich and painfully exciting unfurled in the pit of his stomach. The anticipation was killing him. 

Licking his lips, he raised the solid hips and slid the underwear off. He was greeted with the sight of a cock that was both his and not his. Freed from it’s confines, it bounced up, erect.

Malcolm moaned, loudly, unabashedly, free to do so without judgment. The sound bounced off the walls around him. Hearing his own sounds of pleasure only turned him on more.

Standing, he quickly undressed himself, finding a nearby box to drape his discarded clothing over. A chill passed over him at being so exposed. Either that or it was arousal that made his flesh quake.

His eyes remained fixed to the impressive cock. It was a replica of his own cock, except a touch wider and about an inch longer. The hair on his arms stood on end. He nearly came untouched at the realization that Martin - and whoever made this doll - knew what his hard cock looked like, even down to the vein that wrapped around the side. 

He leaned forward and popped the head into his mouth, sliding down, seeing how far he could take it. When tears sprang to his eyes, he pulled off with a smack. Fuck, even the doll’s balls mirrored his own, the left testicle hanging farther down than the right. He dragged his eyes away, sliding up the muscled abdomen, along his neck, to his face. 

Seeing himself, sitting in the chair, relaxed, huge cock that mirrored his own...nearly drove Malcolm mad. He wished he could be as relaxed as his silicone self. Actually, he was getting close. This was the quietest his mind had been in a long time. 

This was nothing like being with...well...anyone else.

He recalled the first time he and Eve fucked. How nervous he’d been. So nervous in fact that his hand shook as it skated over the soft flesh of her breast. He had been so worried about bringing her pleasure, so terrified of falling short. But here - now - with him - it was all about his own pleasure. 

“I want to see you, all of you,” he whispered, rising, moving. He’d start calling the doll “Mal.” Afterall, it was rude to talk to him without addressing him by name. 

He turned the naked version of himself so that he would face the back of his chair. He draped Mal’s arms over the back of the chair, then he bent Mal’s knees, put his hands on the backs of his thighs and spread them apart. 

Heartbeat echoing in his ears, he took in the sight of Mal’s back, the slope of his spine, the descent to the dimples above his ass. 

He would need supplies if he was going to go forward with this. Which he was. 

In a moment of wild desperation he peeled open boxes and pulled books off of shelves. There had to be supplies in here, right?

Whipping around, his gaze landed upon the table on which the lamp sat. He walked over to it, hard cock bobbing in the air. He yanked open the single drawer and his eyes landed upon vaseline and condoms. 

He didn’t want to process what this meant. Why these things were here if his father was locked away in Claremont. Why he’d had the doll made at all. All he knew was that he was grateful to find that the vaseline was brand new. It required that he peel back the foil after popping off the lid if he wanted to use it. 

He grabbed a condom, then thought better, and took a second.

Malcolm was vibrating out of his skin as he returned to Mal and slid a finger down the split of his ass. The globes of his cheeks were identical to his and with this sight, Malcolm could now picture himself on all fours, panting, legs apart, a view not too dissimilar from the one he was drinking in.

He parted the ass and saw a puckered hole that looked so small, so tight. He squeaked, scrabbling for the condoms. He tore one open and slid it onto his cock. 

Fuck did he want to bareback himself, but he wondered if that was a good idea. Would Martin know? Then he’d have to clean the doll out… too much work for being in a storage locker. Now, if he was at home….that would be different. If he were at home, he’d strap Mal into his restraints, he’d make love to him. Right now - this was fucking. But he yearned to make love to Mal. 

His heart clenched as he rolled the condom onto his leaking cock. He noticed that it was already lubed. The vaseline must have been for going bareback. 

Malcolm moved onto the chair, knees sinking into the fabric cushion as he positioned himself behind Mal. He slid his hands down Mal’s body, over his ribs, down to his hips, squeezing before moving to his ass. 

He pulled the left cheek outward and positioned himself with his right hand. He pushed the head of his cock inside, gasping as the silicone gripped him tightly. His mouth fell open and his eyes rolled back. 

He pushed further inside. Deeper and deeper until his chest was flush against Mal’s back. A shiver rolled over his flesh and he kissed the nape of Mal’s neck tenderly as he slid out and then pushed back in. The fit was perfect. Of course it was. It was himself after all.

As he fucked Mal, he couldn’t get the image of his own cock (only larger) out of his mind. He knew that he wanted to be fucked, but it would certainly take preparation. 

Sliding in and out of Mal, he reached over to grab the Vaseline and began peeling the foil off. He coated his own fingers and then reached behind himself. His nerves lit up as his fingers brushed over his asshole. 

He buried his face in Mal’s neck as he slipped a finger inside of himself. Fleetingly, he wished that he could lick a hickey onto his own neck. He picked up speed. 

It was so easy to lose himself in this. In the slide of his cock, in the spice of his own cologne, the softness of Mal’s hair brushing against his face.

He put a second finger inside of himself, and soon enough, a third. 

He felt his balls drawing up as his fingers barely touched his prostate. He couldn’t easily reach from this angle, but it didn’t matter. His orgasm crashed into him, release jetting out of him. “Gah - Mal,” he whined, sweaty forehead going to the joint of his neck and shoulder. 

Malcolm emptied himself inside of Mal, grateful for the condom so that he wouldn’t have to attempt clean up.

He dragged his overly sensitive arousal out of Mal and stood on shaking legs. He tied the condom off and forced himself to put it in his jacket pocket. There was no trash in here, he’d have to toss it outside. 

Back to the business at hand. He came back to Mal and maneuvered him so that he was once again sitting normally in the chair. 

Malcolm’s ass was stretched - not particularly well - but enough. And now he felt empty, desperate to be filled. He got the Vaseline once more, realizing belatedly (and with a curse) that he’d have to replace it now that he’d opened it and used it. He didn’t want Martin knowing...did he?

Shaking those thoughts away for another time, he grabbed more slippery substance and lubed up Mal’s cock. Generously. No condom this time. He wanted to feel the catch of Mal’s cock head on the ring of his tight muscles. He wondered if he’d be able to feel the vein that ran along the side. 

It was the moment of truth. After lubing up the cock, he climbed up onto the chair, turning to face away from Mal. He needed that cock to hit his prostate. 

He reached behind himself to line up Mal’s length with his hole. 

It burned immensely as he pressed himself down on the doll, his ass not nearly prepared well enough for what he was doing, but he didn’t care. He wanted the hurt. The sting. The stretch. He speared himself on the silicone cock, tears rolling down his cheeks, a look of tortured bliss painted upon his angelic features. 

“Mallll” he gritted as he fully seated himself. Sweat had broken out on his temples and his legs shook. He struggled to breathe as he relished the feeling of being full - so full - with himself. 

He reached between his legs to play with his balls as he rode the cock and found himself becoming hard again. 

“F-fuck,” he enjoyed being as loud as he wanted. He didn’t have to reign himself in for his partner, so he panted and yelped and moaned. He was reckless with his movements, quick and desperate. 

He reached for Mal’s right hand, bringing the silicone digits to his abdomen, dragging them lower. He grasped the back of Mal’s hand and made the fingers wrap around his cock, making them pump him as he fucked himself. 

With his other hand, he rolled his own balls, then reached farther back and grasped Mal’s balls. He squeezed and nearly hit the ceiling when the cock inside of him began to vibrate. Instantly, his orgasm rocketed through him with astounding force. The vibrating cock was snug against his prostate and milking him for everything he had. He flew apart, jets of come painting the concrete floor as he screamed. 

He rode it out for as long as humanly possible, sinking into the shuddering aftershocks as his cock twitched and tried to produce more.

His hearing went fuzzy with the rush of his own blood and little dots danced in the corners of his vision. He pulled in more oxygen and closed his eyes, pressing Mal’s balls so that the vibrating would stop. 

When he opened his eyes, his vision caught on the outline of a person. His head snapped in that direction, to the right, where his mind had hallucinated Martin. 

He stood, motionless, quiet, clad in his Claremont uniform, sweater and all. His eyes were crinkled at the corners with a smile. His gaze tore straight through Malcolm, striking close to his heart and sending out several ripples of pleasure to skate along his electrified skin. 

He swallowed, closed his eyes again, opened them.

He was gone.

Malcolm finally pulled himself off the cock, hating the loss of fullness. His legs felt like Jell-O but he implored them to hold his weight. 

Some tiny part of him expected to feel shame or dismay at the fact that he’d just fucked himself, but none of those feelings materialized. If anything, it was the freest he’d ever felt while having sex and once it was over, his mind was quieter than it had been in ages. 

He cleared his throat and began the perfunctory dressing and cleaning up tasks. He found a roll of paper towel and cleaned his come up off the floor. He dressed himself quickly and then began turning his gentle attention towards Mal.

He cleaned him up. Wiping down his cock. Pulling any leftover lube out of his ass. He kissed his cock and his balls and thighs. He couldn’t seem to stop kissing him. He gingerly dressed him, put his hair back into place, planted more kisses along his neck, his cheekbones, his lips.

Pulling away, he thought about leaving him and it sent a spike of fear through him. He couldn’t handle that thought. Leaving Mal in the dark. The cold. Behind a glorified garage door. 

No. He had to take him with him.

But Martin would know.

Shit.

He stared at his own eyes, blue and wide and imploring and decided in that moment that he needed to take Mal with him.

It would mean that he could never return though. 

If this was his only chance to explore this space, he’d better do it and fast. 

Mal sat and watched as Malcolm rushed around the room, looking through boxes, opening books. But nothing in the space seemed of any real import. The books were classics, Shakespeare, Kurt Vonnegut, The Iliad and The Odyssey. Several boxes contained clothes. Clothes that reminded him of Martin. He reached into a box and pulled out a sweater that was a rich forest green and decided to take it. He found a bottle that smelled like Martin. It was his cologne. He pocketed that as well.

Deciding there was nothing else to explore, Malcolm moved to his silicone self. He picked him up bridal style and grabbed the lock on his way out.

He returned the lock after a quick internal debate wondering if he ought to make it look like a break in. But a break in was too improbable. And if he left the lock off, that meant that anyone could get in. Could touch his father’s things. Take his clothes. 

Malcolm’s mind revolted at that idea. So he returned the lock, pulling it shut with a click, and he began walking down the hallways. The lights clicked on, one by one as he strolled down the corridors with himself in his arms, completely unaware that a camera in the corner of the locker he just left had recorded everything.


	2. Chapter 2

Malcolm returned to his loft with a rising sense of excitement. He was grateful for the split second decision to rescue Mal from the storage locker. "There you go," Malcolm said to Mal as he sat him gently on his sofa. "You'll like it better here," he assured, sliding his hand over the doll's face. He leaned in to kiss Mal's forehead and ran his fingers through his hair. 

He stood and decided to make himself a quick meal. Something he could inhale without tasting. Soup perhaps. 

Already, he felt comforted by Mal's presence behind him, reclining on the sofa as he made his little meal. Just feeling a little less alone made the tomato bisque slide down his throat a bit easier. He needed to get his strength back after coming twice, so he pushed on until the ceramic bowl sat empty. 

It had to be the first meal he'd finished in ages. 

Once he was done, the bowl cleaned out, Sunshine fed, he walked over to Mal. Picking up his replica, he brought him into his bedroom and laid him down on the bed. 

He let his gaze slide over Mal and he licked his lips. Desperately he wondered what it would be like to not have to sleep alone, but to have his own company. He wouldn't have to explain his night terrors when he awoke screaming or be embarrassed if he woke up wound tightly around the other party. 

It was liberating. 

Carefully...slowly...he undressed Mal to get him ready for bed. He slipped off the suit and hung it up in his closet, then he went to his dresser to pull out a pair of fresh boxers. He returned to Mal and replaced his boxers, stuffing down the arousal that tried to fight its way to the surface. There was no way he had three in him. No, this was about comfort, not sex. 

He slid down his sheets and climbed into bed, pulling Mal in with him. He got them both comfortable and then secured his restraints. He had enough slack to reach behind him and pull Mal's arms around him. He clutched the doll's forearms to his chest, his fingers interlacing with the silicone digits.

Malcolm felt sleep reach for him and for once, he fell willingly into its embrace. 

When he started awake it was because of warm sunlight cutting across his face rather than the horrors of a nightmare. He was shocked to find that he got an entire five hours of uninterrupted sleep. 

Rather than spring up and launch himself towards his daily affirmation, he turned into Mal, folding himself into the solid chest. He remained there for the next hour, just enjoying the press of Mal against him. 

When he did finally emerge from the safety of his bed, he knotted his hands together and raised his arms over his head. With a yawn, he loosened his body, stretching his muscles, rolling his neck with a smile on his face.

He thought about what suit he would dress Mal in as he sent the blue one to the dry-cleaners, but for now, he kept him in his boxers. He lifted him from bed and brought him into the kitchen, perching him on the bar stool at the kitchen island, arms resting on the countertop.

Malcolm made himself a hardboiled egg and focused on Mal as he ate it, rather than the disgusting taste and slimy texture as it slipped down his throat. For whatever reason, just having Mal around made him take better care of himself. He wondered why as he finished a full glass of water rather than going for coffee. 

Maybe stepping outside of himself...seeing his physical form like this...gave him a greater sense of empathy for himself.

He leaned on the island opposite of Mal, looking into his own eyes, licking a stray grain of salt of his lower lip. He reached out and picked up the small card that would hopefully hold some inspiring words for him. 

“I am strong enough to give myself the love I deserve.” Malcolm squeaked and then huffed out a laugh. 

“I don’t think this is the kind of self love they had in mind when they wrote this,” he put the card down and smiled at his silicone self.

+++

Over the next week, Malcolm found himself romancing the doll. He dressed and undressed him, put him in different outfits, prepared him for bed each night. He reclined on the sofa with him and watched TV. He had conversations with him. 

It didn’t make the loneliness cease completely, but it helped it immeasurably. 

Even the team had commented on how he appeared healthier. The bags under his eyes had lightened and there was a soft pink tint to the peaks of his cheekbones.

He’d been eating more and sleeping better, but he was still distracted. Malcolm had managed to avoid seeing his father in these two weeks, but he knew that the clock was running out. He would have to visit sooner or later and he knew that even if Martin didn’t know he’d taken the doll...he would be able to sense that something was...different.

Perhaps it would just be better to confront him. Ask him why he’d had the doll made in the first place?

But what would be the point? He already knew the answer. Didn’t he? 

Rather than get too wrapped up in his own thoughts, Malcolm focused on work and enjoying time with Mal when he was home. He had fallen into a nice routine, one that he had no intention of changing.

Unfortunately, nothing good ever lasts. 

+++

“I’m sorry, fuck I’m so sorry,” Malcolm couldn’t stop the endless stream of tears that travelled down his face. His shaking hand cupped Mal’s face and his watery eyes observed the damage that he’d done.

Immediately after the accident, guilt burned in his chest, the flames licking at his sanity. He loved Mal, and he’d hurt him.

“I didn’t mean to,” he soothed his thumb over the cut, alarmed at the depth of it. It sliced through both the upper and lower lip and down the chin. It was odd to see the wound and observe no blood rushing from it. 

“What was I thinking?” his eyes darted to the offending steak knife. “I never should have done anything with you in the kitchen,” he cried. “I’ll fix it. I’ll make it better, I promise,” he offered.

But how? 

Miserably, Malcolm cleaned up the kitchen and trudged through the next several hours until it was time for bed. He stayed up the entire night, unable to sleep with Mal lying in bed next to him. 

What could he do? How could he fix Mal?

He did have connections. The sex shop. The one where he got his restraints. Maybe his connection there would know someone who could fix Mal?

As soon as the morning had progressed far enough along that businesses were open, Malcolm was grabbing for his phone to call the shop.

“I know a guy,” Shawn told him and hope ached in his chest. “But...I wouldn’t...I mean...he’s good, but not good enough.” 

Shit.

“The picture you sent me? Just seeing his lips and chin and neck. That is one seriously high end doll. I would take it back to whoever you had made it.” 

Right.

Malcolm blushed furiously, grateful that he was on the phone. He couldn’t very well explain to Shawn that the sex doll was a replica of himself (he made sure to keep the picture vague and focused on the injuries). Nor could he explained that he’d stolen it. 

“T-thanks Shawn.”

“Sure. Sorry I couldn’t be of more help man.” 

He hung up, dread churning in his stomach as he realized what he would have to do.

+++

It had been two weeks since Malcolm’s dress shoes echoed down the barren halls of Claremont. He couldn’t shake the anxiety that wrapped it’s fat trendrils around his throat ever since the incident with Mal the night before.

From the moment it happened, he felt sick. 

Now he would have to confront Martin.

Perhaps he deserved this punishment. 

Mr. David pulled open the cell door and asked Malcolm if he would like him to stay. He politely told the taller man that he would like to be alone with the doctor, and he disappeared after letting the profiler inside. 

“Finally!” Martin said, animatedly exasperated. “It’s been two weeks!” His eyes rolled over his son. “Do tell me what terrible thing I’ve done to be ignored.” 

Malcolm cleared his throat. “It’s not something you’ve done...I just needed a break.”

“A break from me?” Martin sounded hurt. 

It made something twist with delight in Malcom’s ribcage. He’d inadvertently succeeded in making Martin squirm and he felt heady with that powerful knowledge. 

“You missed me that much?” he shot back.

‘Sneaky little bastard,’ Martin thought. If he did admit to missing Malcolm, he would sound weak and desperate. Granted, he was. 

“I think you missed me too,” he countered.

“Do you?” Malcolm huffed a mocking laugh. 

“Either that or you need something from me.” 

Bright’s blood ran cold. 

“Ahh...that’s it,” Martin’s eyes sparkled. His boy didn’t even have to utter a word. His tense posture and nervous energy gave him away. “So what is it? A particularly rough case?”

‘Shit,’ Bright thought. Martin didn’t know that he had taken the doll. At least, it didn’t seem that he did. Wouldn’t he have brought the storage locker break-in up right away if he knew? If he thought that Malcolm had something to do with it? 

“Uh no...it’s not about a case,” he shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“Really? So a personal matter then?” 

Malcolm sucked in a breath and steeled himself to say the words that squirmed in his stomach. He wasn’t sure he had the resolve to admit to what he’d done. He felt like a child who had stolen cookies to eat before dinner and ruined his appetite. 

“Oh my…” Martin purred. “You look positively...guilty.” 

The final word of Martin’s statement filled Malcolm with a heat that travelled straight to his groin. His blue eyes snapped up to the older man as his heart flew in his chest. He couldn’t shake the idea of Martin punishing him for his bad behavior. 

Fuck did he want that. 

“What did you do son?” 

He swallowed, licked his lips and took several steps forward, tilting his head down. “I - uh...I don’t want you to be mad,” he said looking up through his lashes. 

Martin lapped up this attempted manipulation as if it were ambrosia. “Whether or not I’ll be mad depends on what you’ve done…”

“I...I found...your storage locker,” he ventured, keeping a careful eye on Martin who’s expression had not faltered or changed. 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah and...I came upon...myself.” 

“Oh…” 

His voice had descended into buttery octave that made Malcolm’s insides liquify. 

“Why would you have a sex doll of me made?” Malcolm couldn’t reign in his curiosity. He of course needed Martin’s help in getting Mal fixed...but he also wanted some questions answered. 

“Why do you think? Why does anyone have one made?” 

“To fuck,” he answered without emotion, coming right up to the red line, the word falling harshly around them. “But you can’t fuck it. You’re here. Mal’s there.” 

Shit. 

Martin’s head tilted, curiosity lighting in his eyes.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“You just said...Mal.”

Malcolm’s mouth went dry, his eyes going wide as saucers. 

“You named him? You’ve bonded with him. You took him home once you discovered his existence?” 

“I - uhm…” his hand shook, despite it being pocketed. 

“You don’t have to tell me you know,” Martin walked up to the red line as well. They were now just inches apart. “I can see it for myself if I want.”

“W-what do you mean?” 

“I have a camera in the storage locker,” he whispered the words onto Malcolm’s lips, watching as they washed over his boy. 

All of the color drained from Malcolm’s face and his breathing increased dramatically. 

Martin’s brain flew with endless possibilities and Malcolm’s pinned posture and startled expression had given him away. 

Oh.

So he had. 

Martin’s lips twisted into a shit eating grin. 

“What did you do with...Mal...in the storage locker?” 

His boy was ducking his head, that same shade of guilt tinting his features. 

“Oh, don’t be ashamed sweetheart,” Martin raised his hands, grateful that they were only cuffed together and not bound to his waist as well. He brought his hand to cup Malcom’s face, fingers brushing along his smooth skin. “I won’t view the recording if you don’t want me to…”

The touch made Malcolm’s heart skip beats. He struggled to get his words back, but when he found them, he asked something that surprised even himself. “D-do you want…? Do you want to see it? Do you want to watch?” he observed Martin’s eyes darken, his pink tongue darting out to lick his lips. 

“Yes,” came the bitten out response that dripped with lust. 

Seeing as how his boy was not pulling away from the touch or running away from the conversation, Martin continued. 

“I want to watch you fuck yourself.” 

“Hnggg,” Malcolm’s eyes slid shut as he pictured Martin, eyes glued to a monitor, Malcolm’s moans echoing from the speakers as he fucked himself on the silicone cock. He imagined Martin’s large hands wrapped around his own arousal, moving in time.

“You *want* me to watch, don’t you?” Martin’s hand flattened and slid down Malcolm’s chest. He expected his boy to backtrack, to mutter and stumble and fall apart, but he didn’t - and pride surged in his chest. If anything, Malcolm swayed forward just a touch. Emboldened, Martin brought the back of his hand to Bright’s tented arousal, brushing his knuckles against the young man’s clothed cock.

Malcolm sighed and Martin committed the sound to memory along with the image of his torturously pained expression. He could sense the guilt that still lingered on the corners of their interaction. 

“I...ah...have to tell you something,” Malcolm said, forcing himself to take a step back. Martin took one forward but the tether halted him. Fuck. He was alarmed by the crushing desire to touch more that consumed him. But he couldn’t.

“What is it my boy?” he forced his brain to trudge forward, to ignore the pulse in his aching cock.

“I…” Malcolm stopped, biting his lip. “I hurt Mal...on accident,” he sounded beside himself. Martin instantly wanted to fix the situation. Make it better.

“How?” 

“A steak knife on the island countertop cut his lip and chin while I was…” he faltered, face flushing red. “I need to fix him...and in order to do that...I have to take him to who made him.”

“Hmmm…” Martin considered how he could use this new information to further embed himself into Malcolm’s life. “Well...I would love to tell you who made him…”

“But?” 

“But the creator is in Canada…”

“I don’t care...just tell me who made him so that I can fix him.”

“You really, deeply care for him don’t you?” 

“Dr. Whitly…”

“I’ll tell you...but I want something in return.”

“Of course you do,” Malcolm brought his hands to the back of his head as he turned away from Martin. “You take and take…”

“And you’re any different?” Martin posited, clearly seeing the angles he could exploit. “You took Mal...he didn’t belong to you. You hurt him...even if it was on accident.” 

“What do you want? Huh? What do you want in return?”

“Recordings are nice... and now that I have your permission, I’m certainly going to view your first encounter with Mal in the storage locker...but…”

“But what?” 

“I want to watch...in real time.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean that I’ll have a camera couriered to you. A small one for you to put in your loft - angled towards your bed of course Once he’s fixed...I want to watch you with him.”

“You think I’m going to let you…”

“I do,” he cut his boy off. “You want me to watch...I’m not blind. I can see how much that turns you on,” he let his eyes slide over Malcolm as he uttered the statement. “I’ll set everything up for Mal to be fixed. I’ll hire someone to take him to Canada, to be fixed and returned to you as quickly as possible. And in return for my help - for my letting you keep him - I’ll get to watch in real time,” Martin sauntered over to his desk as if Malcolm had already agreed, and grabbed a pencil and a slip of paper. 

“When you get him back and the camera’s set up...you text this number and I’ll start watching. When you’re done...you can even toss the camera if you’d like,” he returned with a slip of paper that contained ten digits. He held it out to his boy and he took it. 

“Y-you don’t think this is odd?” 

“What part?” 

“All of it,” Malcolm whispered. “Me fu-fucking myself. You watching. The very fact that you had a sex doll made of me. Does that mean...do you want to…?” 

“Fuck you?” 

A shudder rolled through Bright that he couldn’t suppress in time and he watched Martin’s eyes glow with satisfaction. He feared hyperventilation as he felt the raw want radiating off of Martin. Never before had he witnessed this side of Dr. Whitly. His usual air of predatory confidence was there, only now it was mingled with a sexual charge that could knock him off his feet. 

“Fine,” he found himself agreeing. He shoved the little paper into his pocket and turned to leave.  
“The video. Make sure it’s the same day that you get Mal back. I’ll know when that is...so I can prepare. Get a monitor in here.” 

Malcolm’s wide eyes connected with Martin’s one last time as he knocked at the door. 

“I have no doubt that you’ll do good. So good, my boy,” he soothed. 

It was difficult to walk out of Claremont with his pressing arousal heavy between his legs, but Malcolm managed it.


	3. Chapter 3

As promised, Martin had hired someone to come and pick up Mal. A man not much older than Malcolm arrived the very next day, clad in all black. He was polite and friendly, explaining every detail to Malcolm so that he wouldn’t worry. 

He even gave Malcolm his cell number so that he could call any time if he had questions or concerns. 

Still, it was hard to hand Mal over to him. 

Best of all, Malcolm felt no sense of judgement from this courrier (his name was Jason). The stranger didn’t comment on the fact that Mal was an exact replica of Malcolm and the profiler was grateful for that. 

“Oh, before I go,” Jason reached into his back pocket and pulled out a camera. He held out the small black device and Malcolm took it.

“All you have to do is position it and turn it on,” he explained. 

Briefly, Malcolm wondered who the hell this guy was and how Martin had gotten him in his employ. He also wondered how much he was being paid for his time, efforts and travel. His brain flashed to Martin, wondering how he’d found this doll maker in Canada in the first place and...how much had he paid? When did he get him?

“You with me?” 

“Uh- yes,” Malcolm stammered, coming crashing back to the moment. 

“It will broadcast live. The broadcast will be sent over a secure, encrypted channel.”

“Could it be...recorded?” 

“That’s a good question,” Jason seemed stumped. Clearly he had a script, and Malcolm was jumping off it. “I would ask him.” 

Him.

Martin Whitly. 

“Ah, okay,” he pocketed the camera.

“Thank you,” he held out his right hand and shook Jason’s. 

“See you in a week.” 

“Yeah,” he gave a wobbly smile.

“Don’t worry Malcolm, I’ll take good care of him.” 

He nodded and watched the courier disappear with Mal down the steps. When he closed the door, suffocating silence swallowed him up. Malcolm couldn’t shake how remarkably alone he felt.

This was going to be a long week.

+++

Jason had done a good job of keeping in touch and Malcolm was beyond grateful for it. Every day seemed to drag its feet. The week felt more like a month, but it was finally drawing to a close.

He was about to have Mal back and excitement swelled in his chest. He couldn’t wait. 

The very worst thing about his being gone was that Malcolm had to sleep alone all week. His rest had gone back to being fitful and riddled with nightmares. His eating habits suffered as well. It was difficult to put on an unaffected mask around his team. Despite his efforts, both Dani and Gil had asked Malcolm what was wrong.

He couldn’t very well stare Dani and Gil in the eye and say, “yep. Well...you see...while I was fucking him, I broke the sex doll that I stole from my father. Sadly, the doll, who I’ve named Mal, had to go to Canada for repairs. Without his company I’ve collapsed into a puddle of non-functioning human despair.” 

So he just told them that he was feeling under the weather...that he had a cold. Both saw it for the lie it was but didn’t push it.

+++

It actually took a week and two days to get Mal back. As soon as Jason knocked, Malcolm was already opening the door. Relief washed over him and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

He thanked Jason and tried to give him a tip, but the other man made a passing comment about how well he had already been compensated by Martin and just shook his hand instead. 

After he disappeared, Malcolm brought Mal back into his home. He stopped at the barstools, and before perching Mal upon one, he gave him a crushing hug.

He no longer smelled of his cologne. He would have to remedy that. 

Fuck, there was so much that he wanted to do now that Mal was home.

Bright let his mind run wild with possibilities as he made himself a bowl of oatmeal. He couldn’t do what he wanted to on an empty stomach, so he swallowed giant lumps of the oatmeal, not caring that it was still hot enough to nearly burn his mouth. 

While he ate and enjoyed Mal’s company, he felt another new presence. It waited for him in his loft. The camera.

That afternoon, Malcolm had gotten out the small camera that Jason handed him over a week ago. He observed it, rolling it around in his palm as he paced around his loft wondering where he ought to affix it. He laid down on his bed and stared up. 

After much debate, he determined that the best place to put the camera would be at a higher angle off to the right of the foot of his bed. He set it up carefully and wished that he could see the picture for himself to make sure that it was good...but he was certain that he’d hear from Martin if it wasn’t.

After eating his oatmeal, Malcolm took a shower, not caring that his hair was still wet as he slid on a pair of boxers and went to retrieve Mal. The thought that Martin was about to watch him fuck Mal...

He nearly tripped over his own feet as his breath hitched. He imagined Martin in his cell, leaning forward, ears piqued, eyes intent on the view. Malcolm was already hard. He went to the little camera and turned it on, observing the bright red light that kicked on.

Trying to focus, Malcolm walked towards the little slip of paper Martin had given him sitting idly on his nightstand. After he brought Mal to his bed, he reached for his phone. He texted the number. 

“Ready. Are you?” 

“Yes. Go on, my boy.” 

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Malcolm felt the camera, heavy on his back as if it were a pair of eyes. As if it were his father’s eyes. 

He took several breaths and turned around, eyes going to the camera. After a moment, he turned his attention to Mal.

Slowly, gingerly, he began to undress the doll. He started by undoing his tie, slipping it off. Next to go was his button down. Miles of creamy skin was exposed as he pulled the garment away. Then came the slip of his belt through the buckle. 

Malcolm was already so hard, his breathing loudly filling the space. 

“You look so much better,” he brought his hand to Mal’s face, thumb sliding over his lips and chin where the deep cut had been. Thank god they had managed to fix him. Malcolm resumed his work, and began sliding Mal’s pants off. They bunched around his calves and he had to undo his shoes, taking them and the socks off before dragging the pants the rest of the way off. 

Now, both he and Malcolm were left to their boxers. 

He got on the bed and sat Malcolm up to a sitting position, his hands going to his shoulders to keep him up. He thought about how to best do this - worried that he was getting to muddled in his own thoughts. He couldn’t over-think this. He just wanted to be close to Mal. To be close to Martin. He had to let go.

In an effort to sever his obsessive thoughts, Malcolm sat in Mal’s lap and ran his hand through his hair as he tilted his head. He leaned in for a kiss, feeling those familiar lips solid against his own. He parted them with his tongue and ground himself against Mal’s lap.

Unable to contain his rising thrill, Malcolm moved so that he’d be lying on his back next to Mal. He grasped the band of his boxers and slid them down his hips. His head lulled to the side, to the camera. His lips were parted and he pictured Martin watching.   
“How?” he whispered. “How did you know what my cock looked like?” 

Buzzing with arousal, he grasped Mal by his biceps and moved him so that his face was at Malcolm’s crotch level. He brought the doll’s lips to his leaking cock, positioning himself and then gently guiding Mal’s head down to swallow him.

His head craned back as his spine arched. It felt so good to be inside of Mal. He slid his face up and down a handful of times before forcing himself to stop. He didn’t want this to be over so soon. He’d fill Mal’s mouth with his come another time.

Rolling, he put Mal flat on his back and dragged his hands down the silicone body that so perfectly mirrored his own. He let his thumbs linger at the nipples and bent to kiss one before moving to bite the other. 

He removed Mal’s boxers, planting kisses around the cock that sprang up. A kiss to his left thigh, one to his right, one above his cock, one below. Finally, he let his mouth roam to the silicone cock, tongue darting out to lick at the glans. 

He swirled his tongue around the head and licked at the slit. He wanted to show Martin that he had...skills…

So he did. 

Malcolm took Mal’s larger cock into his mouth, his eyes slipping shut as he relished the feel of being filled, enjoying the weight on his tongue. He ran his tongue along the vein - his vein - and his mind could practically feel it pulsing.

“You’re doing so good,” a voice snapped Malcolm out of his ministrations. He raised his head, spit dribbling down his own chin, eyes flying to the corner where the camera was. Sitting beneath it was Martin, elbows propped up on the armrests, hands folded. 

Malcolm moaned and precum leaked from his cock, dripping onto the bedspread below. 

“I think you can take him deeper though,” Martin smiled. “No...I know you can,” he hummed. “So show me.” 

Bright grasped at the bed beneath him, nails digging into the fabric. He wanted so desperately to make Martin proud. Crouching, he took Mal’s cock into his mouth once more, bobbing his head with earnest, taking him deeper. And deeper.

“That a boy,” he growled.

The praise went to Malcolm’s cock and he had to raise himself and bring a hand to his cock to pinch off his orgasm. He twisted quickly to his nightstand and ripped open the drawer to fish out lube. 

He opened the purple tube and squirted some out onto his hand. Reaching behind himself, he sought his puckered hole, rubbing it and groaning.

“Uh-uh,” Martin’s voice filled the space. “I want to see you open yourself up.” 

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes roaming over his hallucination of Martin. He sat in the chair, hands still together, eyes bright, arousal straining against the crisp white Claremont slacks. 

“Lie perpendicular to Mal,” Martin instructed. “Angle your ass towards me. Spread yourself open with your fingers as you slide your cock into his mouth.” 

Malcolm moved to do as he was told. He could feel Martin’s eyes prying him apart and he imagined that it was his fingers pulling him open. Resting a sweaty forehead against his own bedspread, Malcolm tried to make quick work of opening himself up. 

“Slide up and down, in and out of his mouth.” 

“Gah - fu-,” he raised and lowered his hips, cock gliding in and out of those lips...his lips. 

“So beautiful,” Martin sounded stricken. “My Malcolm…”

Malcolm turned his head, cheek flattening against the sweaty fabric. “I want to see you,” he admitted as he added another finger. He’d be ready soon. “I want to see you with him. With me,” he nearly sobbed the words. A confession. 

He heard Martin pull in a shocked breath. 

Fuck, his mind was really pulling out all the stops with this hallucination, wasn’t it?

“You’re ready,” Martin finally said. 

Malcolm pulled up, his fingers falling away. 

“Be sure to give me a good angle.”

His eyes went to the hallucination. He heard the rustle of fabric, saw his father hooking his thumbs into his pants and raising his hips to slide them off.

Hungrily, his eyes drank in his own hallucination. There was just one problem. He didn’t know how to picture Martin. 

“Tell me...what you look like.” 

“Ah…” Martin breathed, his cock arching towards his shirt. “I’m big. A touch bigger than the doll, but nearly the same. Of course...my cock doesn’t look like yours. I have a prominent vein, but it’s on the underside. And my balls are bigger...and hang lower…”

Malcolm’s brain shook to a stop as he imagined Martin - even bigger than the doll - pushing into him. 

“Want you in me,” he whined. 

“For now...I want you in you. Fuck Mal, Malcolm.” 

“O-okay,” he said to the hallucination, only belatedly realizing that if Martin was watching (which he was) it would seem odd that Malcolm was answering to nothing. He didn’t care. So what if Martin knew he was hallucinating him. So what? Hadn’t he lost all pretense of normalcy from the moment he began to fuck a silicone version of himself? 

He moved Mal so that his skull was on the pillow at the head of the bed, that way Martin could get a good view of Malcolm being speared by the silicone cock. He sat on his knees, raising himself up so that he could slowly sink down on it.

A moan was ripped from him as the member entered him and he fully seated himself.

“That’s it,” Martin purred. Malcolm heard the sound of flesh against flesh and he turned to look over his shoulder.

“Fuck,” Martin breathed, unable to handle the sight of his boy’s lust drunk eyes piercing him from over his freckled shoulder. 

Malcolm’s gaze stayed faceted to the sight of Martin, hand moving quickly over his angry red cock. His mouth watered for it. His hands itched for it. Something deep inside of Malcolm was splintering, fracturing, falling apart. He could no longer hide, what he had labeled, his most depraved desires. 

He had borderline fallen in love with a silicone version of himself. He was letting Martin watch him fuck himself. He wanted the doctor there, pushing him into the mattress, bruising hands pressing into his hips as he took Malcolm and Malcolm took Mal.

“Ah...need to come Daddy…” he squirmed, feeling the prickle of his orgasm knock against his spine, tingle in his arms, raise the hair at the back of his neck, pull his balls up. 

“Come inside of him. Inside of Mal,” Martin’s breathing was erratic. He was sharply tugging at his own cock, orgasm imminent. 

Malcolm slipped off of the doll and turned him. He put a pillow under his torso and used his hands to pull apart his ass. He slid his wet cockhead over the tight hole and grabbed for more lube. Shakily, he poured some out into his hand and applied it to his cock. 

“Fuck yourself for Daddy,” Martin purred. “I’m so close my boy…”

Malcolm made sure that the angle would be a good one for Martin before plunging into Mal in one swift go. He didn’t have to worry about hurting his partner and he was desperate - so fucking desperate. 

He watched his hallucination of Martin moan and writhe as his cock pulsed, come jetting out in ropes. 

That was more than enough to undo him. Malcolm screwed his eyes shut and nearly screamed as he began coming deep inside of Mal.

He rode out the pleasure, gasping and groaning until he had nothing left to give. 

Finally, sweaty and sated, he collapsed on Mal’s back. He ran his hands along the backs of Mal’s arms and placed a kiss to the nape of his neck. He stayed inside of Mal, feeling his cock soften. 

“So good. You did so good sweetheart,” Martin said with the same breathless satisfaction that Malcolm was experiencing. This time though, when Malcolm opened his eyes and looked to where his hallucination had been...it was gone. 

But if it was gone...why was he still hearing his voice?

He lifted himself up on shaking arms, pulling his oversensitive cock from Mal. He sat on his knees, hair wildly out of place, eyes staring at the camera. 

“W-wha…”

“What is it sweetie?” 

“Y-you’re talking to me?”

“Of course. I have been this entire time.” 

Malcolm gulped, suddenly aware of his stark nakedness, of the mess inside of Mal. Martin had been talking to him the entire time. That wasn’t a hallucination.

“You sound surprised,” Martin noted. 

“I - I thought it was an audible hallucination to go with the v-” 

“The visual one?” Martin finished. “You hallucinated me there with you?” he sounded absolutely delighted. “Oh, my sweet boy.” 

“I- I should get cleaned up. Clean him up.” 

He could hear the smile in Martin’s voice. 

“Yes. You should. And Malcolm…”

“Yeah?” 

“You don’t have to toss the camera if you don’t want to.”

“Da- Dr. Whitly...I…”

“Goodnight my boy,” Martin said warmly, and then the red light went off. 

He must not have wanted to endure the possible rejection. 

Malcolm grabbed a bottle of water and downed it before pushing up off his bed and preparing to clean Mal. As he returned with a warm washcloth and gingerly pried him open to clean him out, Malcolm let his mind digest all that had transpired.

Martin really had been talking to him. Only half of what he had experienced was a hallucination. That meant...that meant that all Malcolm heard had been real as well. Martin’s instructions...his swearing...his panting...the sound of flesh on flesh. 

A jolt of arousal bolted through him and he tried to push it away. He was too tired. Too wrung out. 

He succeeded in cleaning Mal up, and then himself.

He put his boxers back on and did the same for Mal. He undid his bed and sweetly placed Mal inside. 

His gaze flitted over to the camera. 

That dark, untamable thing unfurled and rolled in his chest. 

“You don’t have to toss the camera…” the suggestion lingered in the air. Malcolm flipped the lights off, got comfy in bed and secured his restraints. He picked up his phone and stared at the last messages. 

“Ready. Are you?” 

“Yes. Go on, my boy.” 

His heart thudded as his thumbs moved over the keyboard. The little blue typing bubble with the three dots appeared. He hit send. 

“I’m keeping the camera.” 

He set the phone down, not expecting a response, but it dinged in the darkness. 

He picked it back up. 

“Good boy. Turn it back on. Let me watch you sleep.” 

Fuck. 

He undid his restraints, stumbled out of bed and walked back over to the camera, hitting the tiny button on the side. The red light came on once again. 

He walked away from it and climbed back into bed to re-do his restraints. He fell asleep with his arms around Mal, feeling Martin’s presence at his back as if he were in bed too.


End file.
